I turn 16 in one week. Seven days until my future is set in stone. I will have no party, no cake, no presents. We aren't people, we have no rights. We are expendable pawns, our only purpose being to work. Day in and day out. Until the sweet release of death. I have one week until I lose all hope of ever being free to choose my own life. Which is why I must leave. I must try to run away before it's too late.
I'm leaving tonight. While everyone else is down in the mess hall having dinner (beef broth with stale crackers) I am packing for my escape. I don't have a bag or any possessions that are mine except the clothing on my back and a thin mattress with a tiny pillow case. I shove my mattress into my pillow case and take my pills. The other should be starting to come back soon so I sneak out. Through the door, past the workers quarters, and to the back door. It's locked of course. Damnit why hadn't I thought of that. Very quietly I try to pick the lock. It's a standard combination lock. Four dials are all that stand between me and freedom. What numbers are significant? First I try the year this dystopian society was formed; 2056. No luck. Next I try this year; 3467. Again no luck. I can hear the others filing back to the rooms. I'm running out of time. Finally I decide to just break the lock. I run and slam my hip into it. A sharp pain shoots through my side. But the lock is cracker. I slam myself into it a few more times until it breaks. Then taking my last look around my prison I open the door and run.
